


Haphephobia

by roselightsaber



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Falling In Love, First Kiss, Haphephobia, M/M, Touch-Starved, traumatic past
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-31
Updated: 2017-01-31
Packaged: 2018-09-21 03:06:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9529079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roselightsaber/pseuds/roselightsaber
Summary: haphephobia(n): a fear of being touched





	

Nothing energized Chirrut like sparring with his fellow acolytes. He was nearing the age where he he could be accepted into full Guardianship of the Temple of the Whills, and his enthusiasm for training had only increased as the time to earn his title grew nearer. He waiting to fight his personal favorite competitor today, a tall lanky boy just a year or so older than himself, who smiled at him like they were on the same side. Of course they were, truly, but Chirrut wouldn’t hold back, never held back, and with that boy – Baze, his best friend, his closest confidant – there was no need to. An even match in every sense, the two sparred often and usually ended their fights in a draw, with a laugh and with their bond of friendship that much stronger.

They faced off, all giddy smiles and electric energy, Chirrut charging first. Baze was taller, had a longer reach, but Chirrut was _fast_ , blindingly so, feinting left and sweeping right to take him off balance. But Baze was built solidly, too, and one strike wouldn’t quite knock him off his feet; instead he whirled around with Chirrut’s push and tried to trip him up with a kick of his leg. Chirrut, quick as the wind, leaped up and struck his hip with his knee, hard enough to pull from him a grunt of pain and nearly topple him over. He didn’t go down, but the strike threw him considerably off balance, and though he managed a sharp strike to Chirrut’s ribs, he had no momentum to follow through, forced to stumble back to stabilize himself. Chirrut took full advantage, knocking the wind out of Baze and sending him to the ground with a blur of precise hits. Victory.

Baze didn’t get up right away, but he laughed, exhausted that quickly, as he looked up at Chirrut. “When are you going to learn not to leave me an opening like that?” He gloated, grinning ear to ear.

Baze grunted in annoyance and sat up, scowling at Chirrut out of habit though both know full well there was no real animosity there. “You got _lucky_.”

“I don’t believe in luck,” Chirrut chirped, extending a hand to his fallen companion, which Baze dutifully ignored as he pulled himself to his feet, dusted off his robes. “And neither do you.”

Baze waited to trail a few steps behind the other as they headed back to the temple. Their words were friendly, even their sparring was friendly, but Baze had always preferred to put some distance between them, and Chirrut wasn’t one to push the issue. Baze was a solitary person – perhaps a defense mechanism, perhaps just a natural result of being alone so much of his life. Either way, Chirrut had faith that they would eventually get as close as the Force willed them to be, whatever that might mean, and Baze was content to remain stuck in his ways. It wasn’t until three nights later that either would challenge their established boundaries.

Though still not formally appointed as full Guardians, as acolytes they carried out similar duties to the temple, including standing watch, and it was on the way back from keeping an eye on the entrance to the pilgrims’ boarding rooms that Baze finally let out another soft sound of complaint. He tried to stifle it, never one to make a fuss, but it hit Chirrut’s ears loud and clear, and he looked over at him with a flight furrow in his brow. “Something wrong?”

Baze considered lying, but that never went very well with Chirrut. “I don’t think I took that fall very well when we sparred,” He admitted, embarrassed at his own weakness as much as he was reluctant to say anything to make the other feel guilty. “My back is aching.”

“Do you need to see the medic? It’s not too late; she wouldn’t mind–”

“No,” Baze answered with a quick shake of his head. “It’s nothing so serious. Supplies are limited these days. Even if I thought it warranted medical attention there might not be treatment available.”

Chirrut sighed, looking utterly unconvinced despite voicing his concession. “You’re probably right.” He tilted his head over towards him as if a genius idea had just crossed his mind. “Oh! I have some muscle salve that nice old herbalist in NiJedha made for me. She saw me fight off those mobsters a few weeks back. Said it was the least she could do.” He grinned cheekily. “I may be a good and devout monk but I know better than to turn away a gift.”

Baze chuckled at that, wondering how the elders of the temple would feel about Chirrut taking such a reward – but he too knew not to turn down help, and nodded. “I guess it couldn’t hurt.”

“It’s good stuff. It won’t fix anything that’s _really_ broken, but…” He gestured for him to follow back to his quarters. “It might make you feel better?”

Sitting on Chirrut’s bed felt uncomfortable, intrusive. He considered him a close friend, yes – a very close friend – but for someone who had had next to no close relationships in his whole life, just what that meant still remained elusive. His family was the temple, its elders, no source of comfort or affection but merely survival. And he’d never known a friend before Chirrut – not one who didn’t want something from him, who didn’t look at him as means to an end. Chirrut _cared_ , so much that it made Baze nervous sometimes, sent his stomach twisting into confusing, anxious knots. In retrospect Baze would see just how long he’d been in love with Chirrut (how long they’d been in love with each other), but without any frame of reference for such a feeling, their first stumbling steps toward each other were slow and perplexing. Baze watched him retrieve the jar of waxy balm, a strong scent of menthol hitting his nose as soon as Chirrut tipped open the lid.

“Smells a little like insect repellent,” Chirrut laughed. “But I promise it’s worth it.” He plopped down next to Baze, who instantly tensed. The nervous tightening of his muscles sent a red-hot wave of pain down one side of his aching back, but if Chirrut noticed, he had the decency not to point it out. “Where does it hurt?” His voice was soft, rich and warm and closer to Baze’s ear than he’d been expecting, with a hand on his shoulder to match. His heart hammered in his chest at the contact, so unlike anything he’d ever experienced. They touched when they fought, of course, but Baze couldn’t recall Chirrut – or anyone else for that matter – ever touching him like this, with affection. He had drawn away from any chance of it for so long that it felt like a shock to his system, and he tensed again, for the first time in recent memory frozen in place rather than quick to retreat or attack.

“Baze?” That voice again, like a warm blanket. “Are you alright? Did I hurt you?” He drew his hand away and Baze wasn’t sure if he was relieved or regretful. “Ah – I shouldn’t have touched you like that, I’m sorry.”

“No – no, it’s all right, Chirrut.” He risked a look back at the other, who was staring at him in his usual owlish, overly-intense way, dark eyes searching for _something_  in his expression or his posture. “I’m not used to it, that’s all.”

Chirrut kept on staring, inquisitive and concerned, with Baze barely meeting his gaze. “I didn’t mean to sneak up on you,” He offered, a soft smile playing at his lips. He held up the jar again, leaning in a little more closely as if testing just where the boundary lied (the mistake there being that Baze had no answer for the question). “Only hoping to make you feel better, my friend.” He reached for Baze’s hand, and despite every fiber of his being shouting in opposition, Baze let him; he let the unfamiliar warmth fill him up, somewhere between stifling and satisfying.

“You don’t like being touched?” He asked quietly, eyes on their folded hands. “Is this okay?”

“It’s okay,” Baze answered more quickly than he would have liked, but it seemed in the moment very important for Chirrut to know. “It’s not that I don’t like it, just that I’ve never – I mean, no one has ever–” He stumbled over the admission, knowing he has no good reason except fear for his self-imposed exile from affection. It became harder to explain still when he met Chirrut’s eyes once more and saw the sadness there, empathy so deep that Baze felt like he was hurting the other just by feeling.

“No one has ever…” Chirrut’s voice was hushed, disbelieving. “But we’ve sparred. That’s close contact, right?”

“That’s…” His eyes fell away from the other’s, focused again on Chirrut’s hand resting tenderly in his. “That’s different.”

“You’ve never had someone care for you.” Chirrut’s voice came in a choked whisper. “You know that I do, don’t you?”

Baze nodded slowly, wondering how this conversation had so quickly escalated into confessions he never intended to make. “I know.”

“And you don’t–” Chirrut laid a hand slowly at Baze’s shoulder, waiting for resistance or tension or maybe even for Baze to just push him away, but nothing of the sort came. More slowly still he smoothed his palm across Baze’s aching back to his other shoulder and gave him a gentle squeeze. “You don’t have to be afraid with me.”

“I’m not afraid of _you_ ,” He clarified, though the sensation across his back left his voice shaky.

“I know,” Chirrut replied. “You’re my best friend, Baze. I know you. I know what you’ve been through.” Another faint smile, the kind that melted Baze’s heart, pushed his fears back a step, if only for a moment. “And I know you don’t want to talk about it.”

“You’re not wrong about that.”

“But this is okay?” He gave him another half-hug, and though Baze’s stomach still lurched with nervousness, he realized just how much he wanted him to not let go.

“It’s okay,” He answered, pausing a moment before amending the thought. “It’s good, Chirrut. From you it feels good.”

Chirrut hummed something approving at this answer and retreated only slightly to locate the medicine set aside earlier. “Can I put some of this on your back?” He tilted his head, a charming habit to Baze’s eyes, one that made him smile a little despite his creeping anxiety. “I know it’s a lot all at once, but I can feel how tense you are, and I know it hurts.”

“It’s tiring,” He admitted. “Being afraid.” His muscles ached, and the nervous constriction he felt with every touch was not helping. But surely Chirrut knew it too, and the chance to let go of some of that fear with the only person in the universe he trusted did have a certain appeal. Frowning a little, he looked down at his hand and reached to twine his fingers through Chirrut’s again, experimentally. This he could endure – he could get used to it, even, grow to like it.

“We can work up to it,” Chirrut suggested, perceptive as ever. “Face your fear little by little.” He smiled warmly and for just a beat Baze wasn’t sure what he was scared of in the first place. “You’re already getting there.” He lifted their joined hands in demonstration, leaning to press the back of his hand carefully to Baze’s cheek. Such an affectionate gesture – Baze swallowed, a tightening in his chest outdoing his usual nervousness at the close contact. It was still a feel of apprehension, but not in the same way; he didn’t feel like he might die so much as that he might unexpectedly live too much. His heart might burst. He might fall in love long before he ever realized it.

Chirrut gave him a gentle nudge to turn around, and Baze followed his urging without thought – too much thinking was not going to help him, of that much he was certain. Chirrut’s hands moved to his shoulders, resting in place a long moment. “What do you do when you meditate?”

Baze looked back at him, puzzled. “Like we’re taught, same as you. Clear mind, focused breathing–”

“Try to do that.” He gave his shoulders the lightest squeeze. “I can feel your fear so strongly that it _hurts_. It’s like static all around you. Close your eyes a moment and just…feel. We are one with the Force.” Another careful push of his thumbs into sore muscle. “The Force is with us.”

Baze let his eyes settle shut, hyper-aware of Chirrut’s touch. “The Force is with me,” He whispered. “I am one with the Force.” A familiar mantra, though the situation was anything but, and he began to relax again, to get his heartbeat back down towards normal.

Behind him, Chirrut took up the other half – “I am one with the Force and the Force is with me,” – and as they repeated it together, the burn of his touch became a comfortable warmth, something as soothing and familiar as Chirrut’s presence always was. After a few minutes he moved lower, rubbing down either side of Baze’s spine, feeling his breath catch, then smooth out again. “You know,” He was hesitant to break Baze’s concentration, to ruin the spell of calmness that had fallen over them, but the tension was too thick not to tease him a little. “I really did get lucky.”

“Lucky?”

“When we sparred. If you had taken one less step you would have had me.”

“Oh,” He laughed a little. “I’ll get you next time.”

“That’s usually how it goes. We trade.” Relief flooded his senses and Baze’s too; if they could still tease like this then no harm had been done to their relationship. The comfortable silence fell over them again, for a few moments, and then–

“Thank you for this, Chirrut.”

“It’s nothing,” He assured with a smile, not massaging any more as much as caressing his back, palms flat, slow and deliberate. “Friends take care of each other.”

“It’s something,” He insisted, leaning ever so slightly into Chirrut’s hands. “I’m never afraid with you. How do you do that?”

“We know each other well.” _We care about each other. We love each other. We’ve done this a thousand times before in a thousand lives and this won’t be the last one, either._ “Trust makes a difference.”

“You’ve always made yourself a person worth my trust.”

“Because I know it’s a valuable thing.” Hesitating only a moment, he leaned in to press his cheek against Baze’s shoulder. “You mean so much to me, Baze.”

His tone stirred something in Baze, that same fluttering, chest-constricting feeling. “Chirrut,” He sighed, leaning closer, for the first time in his life wanting that close contact.

“Yeah?” Admittedly surprised at the reciprocation, he cut his eyes up to meet Baze’s as he turned to look at him over his shoulder. “Feeling alright?”

He turned slowly, careful not to strain his back, and rested a hand to Chirrut’s cheek. They both froze for a beat; Baze seemed surprised at his own brash move, and Chirrut even moreso. “Yeah, I – I feel alright.” He laughed a little, eyes searching Chirrut’s face. “Better than alright.”

“You should have let me do this years ago,” He teased, leaning a dangerous inch closer, breath mingling with Baze’s. “Or at least told me your worries. You don’t have to hold that back from me.”

“I know, Chirrut.”

Chirrut closed the small gap between them, kissing Baze softly on the lips – brief, chaste, but not at all hesitant. “Do you?”

Face flushed red, Baze suddenly couldn’t meet his eyes, but he didn’t pull away, didn’t recoil from the touch. “I know.”

Chirrut only smiled and reached for the herbal balm again, deciding against pushing for anything more direct from either of them. Baze had already made a leap, he didn’t need to be shoved off another ledge so quickly. “Undo your robes. I’ll put a little of this on your back.” He patted his shoulder with a soft chuckle. “Then I promise I’ll keep my hands off you for a little while.”

“Deal,” Baze agreed, turning back around once more. Robes slid off his broad shoulders, fabric pooling at his waist, exposing skin that was not unfamiliar to Chirrut’s eyes. Touch was something new, however, for both of them, and in the context of whatever unnamed affection they had just shared, the risk of going too far was daunting. Chirrut slid his fingertips lightly down one side of Baze’s back, trying to neither tickle nor to press too hard, to give him plenty of room to stop him if needed.

“Does it hurt here?” He smoothed over the band of muscle from his neck down along his shoulder blade, and Baze grunted an affirmative. “I’m going to put some there, okay?” The mentholated scent filled the air again, stinging his nose, and he rubbed a glob of the cooling compound into his skin.

Baze closed his eyes, and not against any physical pain or even discomfort. This ache was something harder for him to place, an intense feeling of emptiness that he had not been aware he was carrying until Chirrut began cautiously trying to heal it. With or without his half-admitted romantic feelings for Chirrut – and there was far more to confess – the feeling of close contact had rapidly transformed from something to fear to something he longed for, as if Chirrut’s kindness had reminded him that no matter how hardened his short life had made him, he could not escape simple human needs. It was a frightful sensation, realizing he’d been slowly starving to death over almost twenty years, forcibly oblivious to it all along. He had never had a moment to recover in his young life, from deep neglect both physical and emotional, and it struck him painfully all at once, albeit in the form of exquisitely gentle fingers against his skin.

“Is it too much?”

That damned voice – too warm, too caring, too sincere when he was desperately trying to press his emotions down. Chirrut saw through him, always. He squeezed his eyes shut more tightly still. “Maybe. Maybe a little bit too much.”

Chirrut’s hand stilled, and Baze contemplated whether he could possibly choke down his pride long enough to ask him not to stop just yet. But Chirrut, knowing and sensitive, curled both arms slowly around his waist rather than break contact. “Compassion is a strength for Guardians,” He began, his tone soothing and wise beyond his years. “Open your heart to what you feel, Baze.” He kissed him a second time, a lingering touch of lips on Baze’s shoulder. “Even if what you feel hurts. I’ll protect you.”

“Protect me?” He laughed, out of surprise more than mirth, eyes damp with tears when he finally opened them. “Are you going to guard my heart?”

“Don’t laugh, you old fool.” There was no heat in his tone, even as he lightly nudged his arm. “I mean it.” Then, more softly, “Tell me what’s on your mind, Baze.”

Blinking away the sudden mist across his vision, he leaned back into Chirrut’s embrace, overwhelmed by the sensation as much as he was craving it. “I didn’t know I needed this.” Voice trembling, he hardly sounded like the gruff and confident man he purported to be. But the vulnerability, to Chirrut’s ears, was something much more sincere. “It’s difficult.”

“We can go slow.” Chirrut bit his lower lip, thoughtful. “Or stop altogether. I won’t push.”

“I don’t want you to stop.” Another glance back over his shoulder, and his eyes landed squarely on Chirrut’s full lips. “I mean – I want us to…” He lost the last word to another kiss but it was just as well; he didn’t have much of a plan for ending the sentence in the first place.

“I do too,” Chirrut assured. “And I want you to be comfortable.” He pulled Baze’s robes back up over his oversensitive skin and slid back, giving him a reprieve from the overwhelming (though strangely, deeply _wanted_ ) contact. Slow and steady.

Baze drew a deep breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. “It’s like I can’t stand it and I want it all at the same time.” The nervous smile on his face belied the truth of his words, though his reluctant-at-best eye contact did not help the illusion.

“You went without for a long time. Not just physical touch.” He drew his knees to his chest and regarded Baze curiously. “Affection, too.” A brief pause, a rare hesitancy. “Love.”

Baze nodded slowly. “It…might take a while, you know. To get used to it. To find my footing.”

“Are you worried I’ll knock you over again?” He grinned, and at once Baze’s universe seemed to realign, uncertainties far from vanished but placed in proper perspective alongside that which was most important in the world.

“I am certain you will,” He replied, the exhaustion in his tone only half-sincere. He reached for Chirrut’s hand and laced their fingers together, smiling when the other responded with a light squeeze. “That much I’m sure of.”


End file.
